Of Dresses and Chainmail
by scottthedisaster
Summary: One-shot. Hungary deals with their dysphoria, circa 1323. Pruhun I guess? I dunno they're just being bros but romantic undertone is prevalent. Also he isn't Prussia yet because that's historically inaccurate and boy do I live for accuracy.


It is 1323, and Hungary is no longer in chaos.

It is 1323, and Hungary is no longer allowed to be a boy.

"Please don't lace it up that tight, Csenge."

"Sorry, madam."

"Please don't call me 'madam,' Csenge," Hungary sighed. It really was hopeless. Everyone had realized they were female in 1301, and with the reinstatement of the monarchy, they were being forced to embrace it. Thus, the maid, the corsets, and the 'madam.' God, Hungary wished they had hid their breasts better.

Hungary was inflicting most of their frustration upon their poor maid, who was doubtless dead scared of them at this point. But it wasn't her fault Hungary's dresses were absolute monstrosities. The one they were wearing currently was a large green confection, liberally adorned with lace and pearls. Confection was a rather apt name for it, as they looked rather like a cake.

The Teutonic Order was coming under the guise of an official visit, but really Hungary knew he was just coming to dick around. Even so, they had to put up a good show for their dear Charles, who was desperately trying to cobble together a kingdom and thus appearances matter! Gilbert would ridicule them for the next three centuries, but at least Hungary was showing off their new dress to the entire delegation of Knights, right?

"Knockity knockity." Gilbert's voice, eternally laced with inanity and good cheer, drifted into the room from out in the hall. "You weren't in the front chamber so Charlie, bless his kingly heart, told me to go straight to you."

Csenge looked at Hungary with wide eyes, panicked. "I haven't even done your hair yet!" She whispered. "Whatever, it doesn't matter anyway. You can leave," they assured her. I'd shave it all off anyway if I was allowed.

Looking not all that comforted, she gathered her skirts and left, Gilbert slipping through before the door closed behind her.

"His name is Charles, for god's sake," Hungary enunciated, through unbidden giggles. But they got no response, as the great Teutonic Order, in all of his audacious glory, was speechless. He must have stared at them for a good five minutes, and it was flattering. Until he began convulsing with laughter. This asshole, he laughed until he cried. Hungary saw fit to add to the tears by dealing him a sharp blow to the head.

"This is not funny, and it will be even less funny when I asphyxiate in three minutes because you couldn't stop howling to help unlace my corset." They fumbled at their dressings uselessly to emphasize their point.

Gilbert then conveniently hastened to free his friend from the dressy straitjacket, their intense glare apparently an unnecessary incentive. However, he was still wheezing.

Hungary inhaled several victoriously deep breaths, and fell back against the edge of their bed, sliding down to the floor in a puddle of verdant satin. The Order knelt down next to them, the affair made much less dramatic in his knightly gear.

"Do I really look that bad?"

"NO. No, no, you look fine. Great, actually." He was obviously trying to cover his ass.

"But it's not you." _Ok, maybe he is being sincere._ "You were better off in the trousers and chainmail."

Hungary sighed heavily, pulling their long hair back from their face in the ghost of the short, messy ponytail of their youth.

"Remember our childhood together?"

Gil's pale mouth curved in a smile, happy memories flooding back to both him and them. "We'd set out with only a couple days' supplies and the clothes on our backs into the woods, and we'd spar." Hours at a time, the bouts ending only when the both of them collapsed in a sweaty heap. Neither of their leaders, or anyone for that matter, could find or bother them.

"Remember how I whipped your ass each time?" Hungary grinned at him. "Strangely, no. Must not have happened," the Order replied, red eyes glinting.

"Hell no. I totally beat you," they protested.

"But could you do it now?"

Hungary stopped. So did he. It'd been so long since Hungary was allowed out of the palace, let alone on a battlefield.

"Oh God. I... haven't been able to touch a sword for two decades," they admitted softly. They hadn't been on a military campaign since the Bosnian Crusade. Their companion's expression darkened. "What the hell have they been doing to you?" Gilbert queried. Hungary trained their eyes on the ceiling.

"They force me to act ultra-feminine, as if to make up for all the years lost. Dresses, makeup, diplomacy rather than warfare. They don't understand that I just want to remain the way I was." The dresses felt all wrong on them, even though they were tailored to their body. Hungary's hair was too long, too cumbersome. The makeup weighed their face down, giving them a permanent frown. Nothing felt right. Hungary's own body felt alien.

"And, of course, they call me Elisaveta. Why do they feel the need to give me a name I do not want? I am a kingdom, I already have a name. And it is not gendered," they concluded huffily.

The Teutonic Order looked... something other than stupidly silly for once. Pity, maybe. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Hungary. You've been dealing with this for almost a quarter of century, and didn't come and talk to me?"

"I didn't want to bother you. I can solve this on my own."

"Forgive me for saying this, but they will not listen to a girl, particularly not one that insists that she's not one," Gilbert countered. Hungary put their face in their hands and groaned for a very long time. "At least they can't make the dresses any more low-cut. It's unbecoming of a lady to have scars on her bosom." They sniggered in unison.

"If it's any comfort, I'd wear your dresses for you. This blue one looks pretty cool." He was rifling through their expansive closet now, gauging the damage court had done to Hungary's wardrobe.

"As long as you let me wear your things. I miss armor so, so much," they responded, gazing wistfully at Gilbert's metal link shirt. "Deal."

Hungary shimmied out of the dress, helped along by the already undone ribbons, while Gilbert stripped out of his clothing. Once done, he handed the bundle to Hungary, who had never dressed so quickly. The pants were several inches too long, and the shirt tight in the chest, but Hungary felt wonderfully free.

The Teutonic Order, on the other hand, was having difficulty putting on the dress. Hungary snorted at his predicament. In trying to pull it over his head like a shirt, Gilbert had gotten tangled headfirst and thus looked as if he was being eaten by the garment. Hungary reached to pull the dress back over his head, and Gilbert came out looking tousled and disillusioned.

"How do you wear that?" he panted.

"You step into it, dumbass." Hungary held it out for him to step into. "I knew that," he said.

They laced him in eventually, and the Order spun around, testing the qualities of the dress. "Interesting. I'd wear this into battle if it didn't take so long to get into. Dazzle the enemy, I would." Riding into battle in a gown— he'd be more likely to have the knights faint from shock.

"You'd set a trend. All the knights would wear dresses to look as good as you," Hungary told him.

"Why thank—" he narrowed his eyes. "That was sarcasm, wasn't it."

"Yes, but you do look quite nice."

"As do you. I should smuggle clothes in more often for you." Hungary's eyes widened. "You would?"

"Of course. These dresses are impractical, however beautiful they make you look." Gilbert grinned at them.

"Thank you, thank you so much," they effused, eyes moist.

The two of them changed back to their normal attire, albeit reluctantly. The Teutonic Order was staying for another week, but he could only interact professionally with Hungary for the remainder.

As he left the room, Gilbert stopped, turning to face Hungary. "I don't know how much my word is worth, but in a dress or chainmail, you'll still always be my sparring partner."

And with that, he went to find his delegation, leaving Hungary alone, but not lonely.


End file.
